


a vision in the morning (when the lights came through)

by plinys



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 20:46:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4760477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Then you decided to lie down on the ground and declare that you were dying for the whole hospital to hear.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	a vision in the morning (when the lights came through)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sinceresapphire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinceresapphire/gifts).



> For a surprise fic swap (I hope you enjoy) my prompt was: "(302): Did I, at any point last night, say I was dying?"

This isn’t the first time she’s woken up on in an unfamiliar place, and it certainly won’t be the last time. It’s just been a while – probably since that fateful day with a building burning down and being _kidnapped_ by the men in suits who turned out not to be too bad – but the sensation is familiar enough that Skye knows at once what the pounding at the front of her head and unclear surroundings has to mean.

She’s on the couch this time, and not camped out in some guy’s bed, which will make slipping out of here easier. At least, that was what she had thought, but the first step up from the couch has her whole world slipping out of focus, and she’s nearly down again were it not for the firm grip on her elbow that appears seemingly out of nowhere to hold her steady.

“I’m fine,” she says, quickly and stubbornly even though she’s really not.

Though she feels a bit closer to fine, when a familiar voice replies, “I’m going to have to disagree with that one.”

“Good morning, Lincoln,” Skye says, her voice meaning to be teasing, but coming off just a bit wrong.

“Why don’t you sit back down,” he says, gently, “Doctor’s orders?”

“Your bedside manner could use some work,” she replies, this time her teasing coming off more solid, as she allows him to help her back onto the couch. She may not believe that Lincoln is all knowing when it comes to hangovers but the sitting certainly helps her head a bit.

It gives her a second to catch up to herself, to remember the mission she’d been assigned (and botched), the return flight to HQ that she had purposely ditched, and the bar that had been doing a two for one margarita deal.

She was certain she had said the works _‘Keep them coming, bartender’_ at least four times last night, before it all got a bit hazy.

And now she was _here_ (with Lincoln), wherever that was.

The words “Where am I exactly,” stick in her dry throat.

And Lincoln presses a cool glass of water (that had been sitting on an end table) and two aspirin into her hands before replying, “Ohio?”

Of course she was.

This is where Lincoln lives and works, she remembered that – remembered calling him up and insisting that she had to get away from the SHIELD base. That had been weeks ago, back then he’d told her his doors were always open, and apparently she had taken his words at face value while she had been drunk the night before.

A groan slips out of her lips, as she reaches up to rub at her forehead.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles.

“Don’t worry about it,” Lincoln tells her, “It’s nice to have company from time to time.”

He sounds sincere, but there’s a tried look in his eyes that hadn’t been there in Afterlife, and he still has his scrubs on. Though whether that meant he had been too busy looking after her to change, or that he needed to head back to work, was relatively unclear.

She brings her hand slowly down from her forehead, eyes catching on a white plastic band around her left wrist.

“What the hell?”

That gets a laugh out of Lincoln, though no explanation.

And when Skye turns the band around, she can almost understand why he’d done so. She’s worn one of these before, once when she broke her ankle with foster family number eighteen (they sent her back to the orphanage a week later), and once about a year after she’d been on her own (slipping out the backdoor before the doctors could realize she didn’t have health insurance).

She stares at the black lettering on the band, the name _Daisy Johnson_ stares back at her as though it should seem familiar and fitting. Briefly she wonders if Lincoln was the one who did her paperwork and wrote her name and birthday down for her.

“Do I even want to know what I did,” she asks with a grimace, when she looks up to meet his bright and humorous eyes.

“You came into the hospital insisting that you needed to see me, and when one of the nurses told you that it would have to wait until my break. Then you decided to lie down on the ground and declare that you were dying for the whole hospital to hear.”

“Oh fuck.”

“In increasingly louder tones until somebody finally went and got me to come take you home.”

Saying “I’m sorry” again probably doesn’t count for much, but it makes her feel a bit better.

“Don’t worry about it,” Lincoln says, yet again, “We’ve all been there before. I had some times back in med school – that well, let’s just say, I’ve spent my fair share of nights on the other side of a hospital bed.”

“One day I want to hear those stories,” she tells him.

“You will,” he promises.

“Good.”

“Skye,” he says, his voice soft enough that she turns to listen to him at once. The casual teasing of their last few words falling away, at the brief flash of concern in his eyes. (It’s so strong that she nearly has to tear her gaze away from him). “Do you want to talk about what happened that led to…” He trails off there, but she understands well enough.

“Later,” she promises. Even though talking about SHIELD is the last thing she wants to do. “After breakfast, maybe?”

And just like that, Lincoln nods his head, and the casual mood returns. “You know, I’ve been told that I make an excellent apple turnover.”

“You can cook?”

“I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve,” Lincoln replies, “One of which gets them just crispy enough.”

It takes her a second to put exactly what Lincoln is saying together, but when she does she’s laughing again. “Wait a second, you’re not seriously telling me you use your powers to cook _apple turnovers_.”

“Sure, keeping laughing, but just wait until you have the best breakfast of your life.”

Her smile is genuine when she replies, “I can’t wait.”


End file.
